


I of the Storm

by ewmyname



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Casual mention of vomiting just in case, F/M, Just a small little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewmyname/pseuds/ewmyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dream, of twisted nature burns into the Inquisitors mind. Inquisitor Lavellan cannot get rid of this dream, even with the real being at their side. (The Inquisitor is agender that is why they're referred to with they.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I of the Storm

_They remembered their stomach dropping._

There he was, in front of the noose, his arms spread and his deep voice challenging others. They remember pushing through the crowd, through the throng of people. But something felt wrong.

The crowd never parted, nor did it stop. And he kept talking. The robust and strong man named Blackwall kept talking while they kept pushing through the crowd. And then the throng of people started changing. They lost their forms, they lost their shape and began to become black mists that were hovering in the air with red eyes. The red hungered for blood, for revenge. And the black was beginning to envelope to Inquisitor.

“No!” They screamed, but their words were swallowed up in the black mist. Blackwall still stood tall, as his hands were bound behind his back and he was lead to the hangman’s noose, an imposter for the executioner behind him. Hunger dripped from the black shadows maws, and the words of “ _Blood, blood, blood_ ” sounded through the air as the brown rope was placed around his neck.

Urgency and adrenaline ran through the Inquisitors blood, and they screamed. They screamed out for hours-or what felt like them-as the rope was tightened, and the platform under Blackwall gave way just to hear the almighty-

_They awoke._

Sitting up bolt right, and panting, but now...

Warm and safe. Comforted. They rub their forehead, feeling sweat drenching their scalp and into the short hair that stuck to their face. Palms of hands pressed into their eyes, and they continued to breathe deeply. In, and out. Calm down. It was just a nightmare.

But they couldn’t get rid of the hollow ache in their chest. It seemed to almost be eating at their heart. Lifting the heel of their hands off their eyes, they gazed down at the mark on their hand. The green was dull and quiet at the moment, almost peaceful.

Gently, they breathed slowly and turned to the slumbering partner in their bed. Blackwall, alive and well. Or, should they say, Thom Rainer? They don’t know anymore, but what they do know is that he’s still here.

 _Stay. Stay right here in this moment,_ they think to themself. Reaching out, they gently run a hand down his hair, feeling the silky and soft threads. His eyes flutter open, and he stares up. Blackwall see a sight he has never imagined he would see. But he should’ve counted on this.

The Inquisitor is looking down at him with such tenderness and sadness, and their hand is so light and soft it’s almost like they think he’ll break. Or worse, fly away. The hair atop their head, the only non-shaved bits, sticks to their forehead in shining sweat. Pale skin glistens in the dark light, and soft, round pink lips are parted as they almost start to speak. He adjusts himself, and sits up, grabbing the hand they had placed on his hair in his own hand. Gently, he ran his thumb over the top of their hand, feeling the bones beneath and the shaking of the pale and long appendages.

He knew this all too well. Their hands always shake, even with the simplest of tasks they shake. Gripping firmly onto their bow, they still shake as they line up the arrow and send it flying.

He’s watched them so many times that he’d began to think it was something that even they didn’t notice. But then he began noticing them out of the corner of his eyes. Looking down at their hands, cursing under their breath and muttering “Damn shaking hands”, on the odd occasion as well. They knew perfectly well that their hands shook, and it angered them.

He began to see their hands as beautiful at that moment. He would take them into his whenever they spoke, kiss the knuckles and run his thumb over them. He could name everything about their hands. The little and pale scar on their middle finger on their left hand, the slight bend in that same finger that came from childhood playtime. Their litheness and how they had mused they’d once played  a piano in a bar, when travelling with their clan. And the bitten down nails that had been almost chewed to the base due to their anxious habit.

And god, he remembered how those hands had felt on his skin. He remembers that god forsaken night, where their soft and delicate hands had touched him so gently and kindly he’d almost lost his resolve to leave. And he remembered holding those hands as he touched them back, small and gentle in his own large hands.

And now, here they are, staring at him with their big elf eyes. They were wet, and worried and looking at him as if he was going to disappear again. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them so much like this. Maybe he should have run away when they let him go, and saved them from looking at his sorry face every day. But now, for now, they needed him more than ever. And he had promised a life with them after all this mess. And he wasn’t a man to go back on his promises. Not anymore.

“Love, Emma?” He whispered, cupping their cheek in his hand gently. They sighed, and leaned into his hand. Emma, they were so thankful to hear their name uttered from his lips. The days grew long as he and the others called them Inquisitor, and they were happy to be now just _Emma_. Emma, who is weak and scared and terrified of being left alone again.

“You died.” Emma whispers so softly, Blackwall almost misses it. He shakes his head, and brings theirs up to look at him in the eyes. Their eyes are tearful and he pulls them close. They bring their arms tightly around Blackwall, feeling comforted in the sensation of skin against skin. And he feels their hands shake violently against his back.

“Ssh, I’m right here, my love. I am alive.” They could feel their heart slowing in the comfort that the robust man gave, and so did Blackwall. The fear of losing their world was enough to frighten Emma, but they continued, and only Blackwall knew of their sleepless nights. Others noticed, but he was the only one there when they screamed in their sleep. The only one there when they woke up crying, shaking and panting so hard. When they ran from the bed, and threw up over the balcony. He was the one who sat with them and rubbed their back, and soothed them. An already anxious person, was made far more anxious at the circumstances they had been thrown into. But he knew they didn’t hate it.

They loved helping and being of help, and they loved being the one to save the world. In all their fears they had a small side of pride at being the one person whom could. They were no god of old, nor any archdemon but they done amazing things all by themself. But there was always that rotting fear that chewed at them.

Ironbull had been the first to notice. Experienced with the fear of failure, he had put a hand on their shoulder and held it, offering silent notice. Blackwall noticed next. He was more subtle, but they noticed when he began holding their shaking hand more and holding on tighter. It almost seemed like they would shatter into a million pieces at this point. Just, break apart. They felt their world shattering, but for now they felt safe and at peace.

“Please, Blackwall, don’t leave me ever again.” He nodded against their shoulder, gently rubbing their back.

“I promise, as long as I live I will not leave you. They will have to pry my corpse from you.”

Oh god did they hope this was true.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that this is good for you guys! My first ever story on here so! Yay!


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